


A Game Called Blood and Bones

by IcyPanther



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) Whump, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Protective Lance (Voltron), Torture, Tortured Lance (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26713945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: “You need someone to deliver your message and get the money, right?” Lance asked. “And someone to stay as your hostage?” He swallowed, eyes darting to Pidge. “Take… take me instead.”The alien captain stared. And then he threw back his head and laughed. “You?” he came down from his mirth. “Why would we want you when we haveher?”“Because,” Lance kept his voice even. “I’ll… I’ll tell you all I know about the Blades. And, and the Coalition. Information goes for a lot, doesn’t it?”Except… Lance doesn’t know any actual valuable information. And the aliens are not happy about that. Not happy at all.
Relationships: Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt
Comments: 60
Kudos: 338





	A Game Called Blood and Bones

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline:** later season four or early five  
>  **Warning notes:** torture, blood, violence, you may never look at kitchen utensils the same way again

“Hey!”

The voice was gruff, rude almost, and Lance still found himself stopping and pivoting to make sure it wasn’t directed at him and Pidge, just getting back to their shuttle following a quick supplies stop and already running very, very late. It wasn’t his fault though, they’d been recognized by some fans and spent a few minutes signing autographs and okay, Lance supposed he could have not taken selfies with every single one, but they’d been so excited and while he knew the Voltron Show hadn’t been terribly popular with his teammates he had overall enjoyed it and especially getting to meet the fans and he missed it so this had been a little bonus to the afternoon.

The alien who had shouted, huge black beard obscuring almost all of his light green face, was definitely looking at them, as were what had to be members of his crew as they were all wearing the same black jacket with a some sort of blue insignia on the shoulder, but...

They did not look like fans.

They didn’t even look friendly.

Still, Lance put on his most enchanting smile, tilting his head, and shifting his shopping bags to one hand so he could more easily reach his bayard if the situation called for it. Pidge was a little less subtle about it, hers already in hand and buzzing faintly, and a scowl on her face. 

“Easy,” Lance murmured to her.

Looks could be deceiving and he didn’t relish getting into a fight here where they were outnumbered five to one.

“Can I help you fine gentleman?” he asked.

“We saw you,” the bearded alien said. “Signing somethin’. You’re them, aren’t ya? Science Whiz Pidge and Loverboy Lance from the Voltron Show?”

No use denying the obvious so Lance nodded. “That’s us.”

“I told you!” exclaimed one alien in the back of the group and there was some good-natured shoving and laughter. 

Lance felt his smile become more natural as a pad of paper was thurst forward and he heard Pidge give a long-suffering sigh next to him, disarming her bayard. “Just one,” she muttered beneath her breath. “Allura’s gonna kill us if we’re any later.”

Lance nodded to show he understood and stepped forward, accepting the paper and a large marker, Pidge grudgingly at his side and taking a second pad.

“Who should I make it out to?” he smiled, uncapping the marker.

“Cap’n Beard,” Lance tried not to snort because really?, “and the Blue Blood Alliance,” the alien gestured to the aliens about him, “who are about to be rich beyond our wildest dreams.”

Lance jerked his head up sharply — the words, the change of tone, all of it screamed  _ danger  _ — but he wasn’t fast enough.

For some reason he was still free but Pidge had been ensnared, a large hand over her mouth, and a gun to her head. 

Lance’s hand froze where it was angling for his bayard.

“Now,” Beard sounded and Lance dragged his gaze from Pidge — who  _ gracias a Dios  _ looked more pissed than scared — to the captain, “here’s what’s gonna happen. You see, I don’t much care for dealin’ with Galrans. But I do like money. And your pretty Altean princess Keith… she has quite a lot of it. You follow?”

Lance wanted to laugh at the name mix-up but he couldn’t.

His tongue felt frozen while his pulse was racing.

He managed a nod.

“Good. Knew you weren’t the smart one but glad you ain’t too stupid.”

Lance couldn’t even be offended. 

“You’re gonna go back to your fancy castle and you’re gonna bring us… ten million. In GAC, in jewels, in gold, don’t matter what, but ten million worth in the next two varga. You’re not gonna bring weapons or backup or anything, otherwise…”

He looked in Pidge’s direction and the girl glared back, seemingly unphased by the blaster glowing next to her head. 

That was one of them at least because Lance was losing years off his life by the second.

“And I’d hurry if I was you, loverboy,” Beard sneered. “Because while you’re gone… we’re gonna have ourselves some fun, aren’t we, little miss?”

Pidge’s eyes flashed.

“Oh ho,” Beard chuckled, and one of his hands came up to brush against Pidge’s cheek. “Feisty. We like ‘em feisty, don’t we boys?”

A roar of approval met the statement while Lance felt his stomach bottom out at the insinuation and Pidge’s eyes lost their fire, her visible face going pale.

Oh no.

Heck no.

Lance’s hands trembled at his sides as something took the place of the fear.

Anger.

“No,” he said it quietly but the word carried. 

“No?” Beard repeated, eyes narrowing.

“You need someone to deliver your message and get the money, right?” Lance asked. “And someone to stay as your hostage?” 

“Maybe he is stupid,” laughed one of the crew members.

Lance did his best to ignore that even though he could feel his cheeks flushing. 

“What’s your point?” Beard demanded.

Lance swallowed. “Take… take me instead.”

Beard stared.

And then he threw back his head and  _ laughed,  _ the entire crew joining him and Lance watched with concern as the gun bobbed on Pidge’s head.

“You?” he came down from his mirth. “Why would we want you when we have  _ her?”  _

“Because,” Lance kept his voice even. “I’ll… I’ll tell you all I know about the Blades. And, and the Coalition. Information goes for a lot, doesn’t it?”

Beard’s expression turned almost thoughtful.

Lance kept pushing, tongue nearly tripping over itself because this had to work, it had to. “I won’t fight back. I’ll… I’ll do whatever you say. Just… just let her go. And you’ll get information and then gold and you can spend it on anything,” he winced, “on  _ anyone _ you want.”

Beard looked between Lance and Pidge, who had regained her footing, literally too, and was twisting in her captor’s arms and stomping unsuccessfully atop his foot while Lance stood there, hands spread and trying to project no threat. 

“Deal,” Beard said after a moment. He gestured for Lance to step forward and he did so. A moment later a gun was pressed to his head and Pidge was being released with a push and she stumbled before whirling around. 

“Lance—”

“Take one more step little miss and his brains are goin’ everywhere,” Beard sneered, breath hot on the back of Lance’s ear and beard scratching his neck uncomfortably. “And that’d be a real shame, wouldn’t it?”

“Pidge,” Lance whispered, ocean eyes locking on honey gold. “Go. I’ll… I’ll be all right.”

He hoped so.

But he would do  _ anything  _ to keep Pidge safe. 

She gave a jerky sort of nod. 

“Two varga,” Beard warned. “Be at our ship,” he inclined his head to the right where it was assumedly parked on the other side of the hill, “with the ten million or else,” the gun ground into the side of his head and Lance tried to hold back the wince.

“Fuck you,” Pidge snarled. She turned to Lance, voice softer and beneath it he could hear the fear she was trying so hard not to show. “I’ll be back soon.”

Beard let out a chuckle as Pidge boarded the shuttle. “She  _ is  _ feisty, isn’t she?”

Lance kept his lips pressed together as his mamá didn’t approve of swearing and he didn’t want to start now even though the situation really, really called for it.

“What a shame,” he sighed as the shuttle began to lift off. “But we’ll have fun too, won’t we loverboy? You’re gonna spill all your secrets for me.”

Lance didn’t respond, eyes fully on the shuttle as Pidge escaped.

He felt like a weight had been lifted off him as she became a speck above them. At least… at least whatever happened she would be safe.

That was what mattered.

“Back to the ship,” Beard shouted, spittle hitting Lance’s cheek and he did allow himself a wince that because ew, gross?, and Lance was shoved forward, gun to his head a motivator to not try anything.

He couldn’t have even if he’d wanted to, the press of aliens so thick around him that there was nowhere to go except forward. The ship was behind the hill as he’d suspected and Lance was marched up the ramp, steered through several hallways, and then brought into what looked like the kitchen.

A kitchen was far better than the torture chamber he’d been imagining. 

He was directed into a chair and with a gun still pressed to his ordered to hold still as his ankles were bound to the legs of the chair, toes skimming the floor and he winced at the seat digging into the backs of his knees, while his arms were tied awkwardly behind the chair back since it had no armrests. 

“All right, loverboy,” Beard braced a hand on the back of the chair, looming over Lance. “Start talkin’.”

They didn’t waste any time.

Lance forced down his nerves. He just had to put on a show, an act. 

He could act.

Showtime. 

“My name is Lance Esposito,” he started with. “Pistachio almond is my favorite ice cream flavor but I’ll eat any kind. I’m—”

“What is this?” Beard interrupted, eyes narrowed although confusion lurked behind them.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Uh, duh? I’m talking, just like you asked.”

There were no crickets chirping but the stretching silence had the same effect.

“He  _ is  _ stupid,” finally came a stage whisper from the back.

“I think,” Beard’s voice was low.

Dangerous.

Lance resisted the urge to shiver.

Something had just changed. He could feel it.

“I think you do not understand your situation,” hot breath wafted across his face. “And I think you need a reminder of just what it is we want from you.”

Beard stepped back and one of his crew placed something into his hand.

Lance’s heart leapt into his throat.

A knife.

But not a switchblade.

This was a serrated one, a steak knife, pulled from the kitchen gear.

Lance faintly realized how many items in a kitchen could be used as weapons.

“I don’t care for games, loverboy,” Beard whispered. “And we’re done playin’ yours.”

The blade plunged into his thigh.

Lance  _ screamed,  _ jerking backwards but going nowhere as the chair was too heavy to move. 

Beard yanked the knife back out and something hot splattered against Lance’s chin — his blood, oh  _ Dios,  _ that was his blood — and Lance screamed again as he felt flesh shred and tear.

Oh  _ Dios.  _

“Now,” the knife brushed against his throat and Beard loomed over him once more, blurry this time through reflexive tears that lined Lance’s eyes. “Let’s try this again.”

Lance didn’t dare nod and even as he swallowed he felt the knife prick his throat.

“Okay,” he whispered.

The knife lifted away.

“So, so the Blades of Marmora…”

His fingers curled into his palms, nails digging into his flesh.

He tried to brace himself.

“They’re made up of Galrans.”

Silence echoed.

Lance said nothing more.

He did scream though as the knife impaled his other thigh.

“Think you’re funny,” Beard hissed, twisting the knife in a circle and Lance jerked and trembled and oh  _ Dios  _ oh  _ Dios  _ it  _ hurt, “ _ huh? Think you’re a smart guy?”

“Pretty sure he’s stupid,” came the same voice from before. 

“Tell me, loverboy,” more spittle hit his cheek. “Do you know  _ anything?” _

“Most Galrans are, are purple,” Lance managed. “But they come in other col—”

He cut off with another scream as the knife was pulled free and then immediately plunged back down. 

Black spots danced in his eyes.

Was he going to pass out?

He’d like that, actually. If they’d give him just a second to—

A hand twisted in his hair, yanking his head back, and Lance was forced to look into the livid face of the captain, the black spots receding for the moment.

“You don’t, do you?” Beard demanded. “You know nothin’ of value.”

Lance wanted to retort that he knew plenty of things of value but none that would interest them, but all that came out was a pathetic sounding whimper as Beard twisted his hair again and his neck was pressed painfully into the chair back. 

“Pathetic,” Beard snarled, releasing him with such force the chair rocked and Lance’s stomach swooped with it before it came to a jarring thump on the floor once more. Stomping footsteps indicated Beard had walked away but Lance knew it wouldn’t be for long.

He closed his eyes, breathing in through his nose, and trying to block out the pain and brace himself for what was to come. 

They wouldn’t kill him… right? 

But… but there was still a lot they could do.

He didn’t care. He’d do it all again to keep Pidge safe.

And as if summoned he could hear the crew talking about her.

“We coulda had the little missy to play with,” bemoaned one of them.

“Maybe he ain’t so stupid after all.”

“Naw, he’s still stupid. He’s here, ain’t he? And the cap’n’s mighty pissed. And you know what that means.”

“Ohhhh.”

Lance could almost hear the grin.

He couldn’t quite stop the shudder that time.

“Scared, loverboy?” one of the crew jeered. “You should be. Cap’n’s gonna make you the star of our game.”

“And what’s our game?” shouted one of the crew.

“Blood and bones!” came the booming response.

It became a chant that grew in intensity to where Lance could feel the vibrations through the floor.

Just when it was becoming too loud, too much, it cut off with a terrifying silence.

Lance decided he’d rather have the chanting back as he cracked open an eye to see Beard standing in front of him and the kitchen table next to him littered with kitchen utensils.

More knives from paring to a, a butcher cleaver.

Potato peeler.

Meat hammer.

Grater. 

Serving fork.

And a bunch more that Lance couldn’t place their purpose for the kitchen but he could take a stab (oh  _ Dios,  _ he did not just think that) at what they might be for.

“Here’s how this works,” Beard smirked. “I use one of these,” he held up the potato peeler, “on you. If it draws blood, it’s a point for blood. And if it breaks bone… you follow? And we keep going until you either tell me something I want to hear or until your little friend returns with my money.”

“Blood won last time, cap’n,” an alien supplied. “Sixteen to eight.”

“Well then,” Beard far too gently lifted the hem of Lance’s shirt up to place the peeler against his stomach.

Lance tasted bile in the back of his throat.

“Let’s start with blood.”

xxx

Lance was barely clinging to consciousness when the call went up that the shuttle had returned.

He wished he wasn’t.

_ Dios,  _ they’d…

His right kneecap was smashed in. His skin shredded across his stomach, his arms. Peeled back on his leg. Stabbed and sliced and blood was everywhere and he could taste it swimming in his mouth no matter how many times he’d thrown it up, thrown up stomach bile as they cut and cleaved and broke him in as many was as they could think of.

It hadn’t even been an hour. 

“Pathetic,” Beard hissed at him as he was untied from the chair and unable to walk — his toes were all broken, twisted or pounded or stabbed or cut and  _ Dios  _ he was going to be sick again — and an alien hefting him over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Or a body.

Lance wasn’t sure which analogy was worse.

He’d never look at a kitchen the same way again.

He kept his eyes closed as they moved down hallways, stomach rolling and he could feel blood dripping down hands and feet and, and  _ everywhere.  _

_ Dios. _

He felt sunlight before he saw it.

And then he heard Pidge.

It was not a word.

It was a scream of rage.

Lance managed to crack open heavy eyelids.

Pidge, with a horrified looking Allura holding her back and Lance sent a silent thank you to her because he did not want Pidge anywhere close to these… these  _ monsters,  _ were but yards away by the shuttle.

“What did you do to him? What the fuck did you—?”

“Where’s my money?” Beard interrupted. 

“It is aboard the shuttle,” Allura’s voice was even but even so the undertone of rage licked at every word.

Lance somehow felt comforted by it.

“Check it,” Beard said quietly.

An alien walked away from the group and neither Pidge nor Allura stopped him as he boarded the shuttle. He emerged a moment later eyes wide. “It’s true, cap’n. Loads of it. GAC and gold and lotsa jewelry too.”

Lance blinked.

What?

_ How?  _

He knew they didn’t have that kind of collateral. 

“You have seen your money,” Allura said. “Now release Lance.”

Lance sensed what was going to happen as the grip shifted to his leg.

“No—!” 

Pidge’s shout was lost to him as Lance went flying head over heels, smashing into the ground.

He couldn’t even manage a whimper. 

No hands — kind or otherwise — touched him and he realized after forcing his eyes to open again he was in no-man’s land. 

“There you go,” Beard sneered. “Your worthless loverboy. All yours. Come and get him. Gents, load up the shuttle.”

Lance could feel aliens moving on both sides, crew members boarding the shuttle to steer it into their own ship’s hangar and Pidge and Allura cautiously coming to him, bayards visible.

“Lance,” Pidge’s voice was a waver as she reached him, her hands hovering as though not sure where was safe, and tears were beading in the corners of her eyes.

“Pidge,” Lance croaked. “You… you okay?”

“Am I…?” She broke off with a sob. “You, you  _ stupid idiot!”  _

Coming from her though it made Lance smile.

She was okay.

That was what mattered.

“Oh God,” she’d finally found a spot as her hands brushed on his cheek, action at odds with her words. “Oh God. If, if you weren’t like this I’d kill you right now. You jerk. You, you…” she broke into another sob. Her hand kept stroking his cheek.

Lance could almost forget about the pain.

He felt another hand, longer and more slender, land upon his back. “We must wait until they go,” Allura said softly. “Hold on for just…” her voice hitched. “Just a little longer.”

“Kay,” Lance breathed out. 

Sound faded into a gentle hum, further soothed by Pidge and Allura’s warm touches.

“All right,” Allura spoke. “I am going to lift you now.”

Her hold was far kinder than the aliens’ of before and Lance felt like he should say something about being cradled in her arms but he couldn’t figure out how to move his tongue for that many words.

He did manage one though.

“How?”

“How?” Pidge repeated as she walked next to them, heading for the Green Lion who must have come down cloaked, one of her hands resting atop Lance’s piled on his blood-soaked stomach. “It’s all fake.”

He could feel her smirk.

“We used Coran’s duplicator,” she explained. “Took one gold bar, one piece of Allura’s jewelry, one GAC, etcetera, and multiplied it by thousands. It’s nothing more than plastic. And there’s a tracker too. Blades have agents standing by to pick them up and,” her voice darkened with glee, “Kolivan told us Keith is with them.”

“Pr-princess Keith?” Lance managed.

Allura gave him the barest jostle and he let out a hoarse laugh that turned into a moan.

“I’m so sorry, Lance,” Pidge whispered, all earlier humor gone. “I’m so sorry. I…”

“‘s not your fault, Pidgeon,” Lance said quietly, forcing his eyes open to meet hers. “I’m… I’m jus’ glad you’re… you’re safe.”

And he meant it. For as much pain as he was in, as scared as he had been, he would do it all again in a heartbeat.

Anything to keep his family safe.

And he had.

And they were all going to be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly based around some of my own kitchen horrors so now no one can look at potato peelers in the same way ever again ;) If you enjoyed the fic it would mean a lot to hear from you in the comments :) Thank you ♥
> 
> This fic was written for last year's "A Collection of Langst Volume Two" that benefitted the charity The Anti-Cruelty Society. Preorders are currently open for the third (and final, this will be the last print run I ever do) of "A Collection of Langst Volume Three" where, if we reach the first stretch goal, there will be a zine exclusive fic just like this AND proceeds will once more benefit The Anti-Cruelty Society. You can **[find details on preordering on my Tumblr](https://icymakesazine.tumblr.com/post/629514167732387840/preorders-are-open-click-here-to-visit-the)** and thank you so much for helping me to help out an amazing charity!


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